


Disclosure

by akamww3



Series: Encounters [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brief Cursing, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Mollcroft, Post-TAB (no real spoilers), Sex (Mature), Sherlock Behaving Badly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Their Sunday started so blissfully, but Mycroft and Molly didn't know Sherlock had discovered their secret ... </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disclosure

**Author's Note:**

> Early Sunday morning, still half-asleep, Molly Hooper started to turn over, only to be stopped short when her body came to rest against the warm solidity of a sleeping – no, _sleepy_ – Mycroft Holmes, who’d partially roused at the sudden contact … and then they were face-to-face, each of them blinking drowsily at the other. And without thinking, without inhibitions, without pausing to consider a potential rejection, Molly shifted and wiggled until she was lying flush on top of him. She sighed happily and tucked her head into the crook of his neck, her knees separating and sliding along the outside of his thighs to rest against the mattress, then she sleepily snuggled against him … as if Mycroft were a big, cuddly teddy bear … and proceeded to doze off. A few minutes later, her eyes flew open as his warm hands slowly slid down her back and cupped the undersides of her bottom, fingertips lightly brushing between her legs … and Molly, instantly aroused, gasped and lifted herself from Mycroft’s chest, her eyes briefly meeting his before she sank back against him and pressed her lips to his in a soft, lazy, lingering kiss …, morning breath be damned. One of Mycroft’s hands slipped through Molly’s hair and curved around her nape as the kiss became more demanding, then deepened further when they rolled over and he slid smoothly and oh-so-easily into her … and the only sounds were the whisper of skin against skin, the rustling of sheets, soft moans, long contented sighs, and finally their first and only words – a breathless, murmured, somewhat amused exchange of “mornings” just before sleep again claimed them.

~~~~~

“Problem?”

The crease between Mycroft’s brows smoothed as he set the mobile aside. “Nothing to be concerned about,” he said, giving Molly a brief smile before taking another sip of tea. His eyes held hers over the rim of the cup until the corners of her lips curved and her gaze dropped to her plate.

Molly took time spreading strawberry jam on a wedge of toast, then bit off a corner before looking up at Mycroft again. “How much longer can you stay?”

“Just until after breakfast,” he said rather apologetically, but then the corners of his lips curved when he considered that it was already half past ten. They’d had a lie-in after their leisurely session of “morning nooky,” as Molly had insisted on calling it, earning a disgusted snort from Mycroft. Half an hour later, after giving her a brief kiss at the door, Mycroft was gone, and Molly got on with her usual weekend chores, albeit with more of a smile on her face than might have been expected while hoovering popcorn from under the sofa.

~~~~~

“Shall I come in, sir?”

“No need, my dear,” Mycroft said. “I went by Number 11 to soothe a few nerves, but am on my way home now. Having one of its directors outed for failing to pay personal income taxes may be a bit embarrassing for Treasury but certainly isn’t a threat to national security – however impressive the figure quoted for the unpaid taxes.” He paused, then snorted. “Just their hard luck that it’s been an otherwise slow news day. The story would never have warranted breaking-news status otherwise.”

~~~~~

Molly pushed her way into the lab Monday morning and stopped abruptly upon seeing Sherlock already installed at his favorite work station.

“How nice of you to show up,” he said testily without looking at her.  

Molly frowned at Sherlock’s tone, but checked her watch to confirm that she was actually ahead of time. “Good morning, Sherlock,” she said pleasantly. “Let me stow my things and I’ll be back to help you.”

“There’s no need,” he said curtly. “I’ve asked Danica for assistance.”

Molly hesitated, confused by his behavior, but shrugged after several moments and continued to her office.

~~~~~

A brief story claiming that a high-ranking officer in the Department of Energy and Climate Change had been secretly supporting a group of fervent climate change deniers appeared on the website of one of the nationals Monday afternoon and ruffled a few more feathers in Whitehall, but other news sites seemed to be ignoring the story so far. Mycroft sat back in his chair and looked at Anthea as he flicked a dismissive hand at his laptop. “One need only consider which paper broke the story and its well-earned reputation for relying on dubious sources to understand why.”

~~~~~

_Tuesday afternoon_

“What was that about?” John Watson turned back to Sherlock as the lab door swung shut behind Molly. “Why were you so rude?”

Sherlock finished adjusting the microscope, then asked in a tone of bored indifference as he focused on the next slide. “To whom?”

“To _Molly,_ you git!” John exhaled noisily. “What’s going on, Sherlock?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said without looking up until he heard John’s determined footsteps moving toward the door. “Where are you going?”

“To see if Molly’s all right.”

Sherlock scowled, but turned back to his microscope without comment.

~~~~~

Rumors that a “person of significance” to the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs had been given a slap on the wrist after illegally purchasing Class-A opioids had warranted brief stories in a couple of nationals Tuesday. Then a new story broke Wednesday morning - and quickly spread across broadcast and internet news sites - claiming that an assistant whip in the Treasury Department had secured a property remortgage upon much more favorable terms than available to the general public in exchange for using her influence in regard to an upcoming vote on new banking regulations. That latest allegation of a government-related scandal gave cause for more prominent members of the press to look at others that had gained little attention from them over the previous three days.

_~~~~~_

_Wednesday afternoon_

Molly had just set aside Mr. Bellamy’s chest plate and was studying his heart and lungs while doing her best to ignore Sherlock, who was standing about six feet beyond the other side of the table and closely watching every move she made. Greg Lestrade and John were talking quietly on the far side of the room, but she’d noticed them occasionally glancing between her and Sherlock.

She’d reached the point of removing the heart and had cut the interior vena cava and pulmonary veins and was about to cut the aorta when Sherlock suddenly huffed in annoyance. “What are you doing?” Molly looked up, startled. “You haven’t cut the pulmonary artery.”

Molly looked from him to the body on the table between them. “I’m getting there, Sherlock, as you well know.”

He ignored that. “If you can’t be bothered to do the PM properly, we can always ask Dr. Merriman to take a look.”

_“Shut up, Sherlock!”_ Molly and Sherlock both started at John’s outburst and turned to watch as he strode toward them in full military mode, with Greg trailing behind. “What the _hell_ is going on?”

Molly lifted her hands from the chest cavity and regarded John calmly. She thought she knew what was going on with Sherlock, but he’d yet to confront her. When John’s gaze shifted to her from Sherlock, she shrugged and tried to keep her expression neutral. She looked away as John grabbed Sherlock’s arm and, ignoring his protests, pulled him across the room. Greg gave Molly a sympathetic smile and followed them.

Molly hesitated a few more moments, observing Sherlock’s defiant expression before lowering her eyes to Mr. Bellamy and getting on with her job.

~~~~~

Mycroft ascended the seventeen steps mid-morning Thursday with slow, steady deliberation, paused briefly within the open doorway, then crossed the room and lowered himself onto the chair by the fireplace, right hand resting on the handle of his umbrella. As the dust motes resettled around him, Mycroft eyed the recumbent form of his brother, then sighed. “All right, Sherlock,” he said evenly, “you have my attention. What’s this about?”

Silence was the only response, then Sherlock sprang to his feet with a swirl of blue dressing gown, stepped bare-footed onto and off of the coffee table, and swept past Mycroft and on down the hall without pause, without acknowledgment.

Mycroft’s eyelids dropped and his lips tightened into a thin line as he drew a long, deep, silent breath … then opened his eyes and stared fixedly at his fingers twirling the umbrella one direction, then the other … and waited.

_“Why are you still here?”_

Mycroft ignored the brusque demand and remained unruffled, biding his time. His patience was soon rewarded when Sherlock stalked by him in apparent high dudgeon and dramatically threw himself into his chair. Mycroft met his gaze placidly, knowing his brother wouldn’t be able to hold in for long whatever had him in such a strop.

“I’m not sorry,” Sherlock finally said. “They were all hypocrites, and I find my tolerance level for hypocrisy to be in the range of – _hmmm_ , what is it? Oh yes … _nil_ these days.”

Mycroft continued to regard Sherlock calmly. “And is this course of exposing hypocrisy to continue on an upward trajectory through the ranks of officialdom?”

“It might.”

“You’ve already caused disruptions in several departments. If they reach Cabinet level, some delicate negotiations could be affected,” Mycroft said, seemingly indifferent as he again focused on the umbrella handle pivoting one way and the other, but then his fingers stilled and his eyes met Sherlock’s. “Don’t make me take steps to stop you, Sherlock.”

“I’d like to see you try -”

“No, Sherlock,” Mycroft said evenly. “You really wouldn’t.”

The brothers’ eyes held for several charged moments until the younger man’s gaze dropped and he reached for his violin and began plucking random notes on it. Mycroft rose to his feet and swung his umbrella in an arc to rest against his shoulder as he headed toward the door, suppressing a flinch at the discordant screech his brother achieved with his bow.

_“Caring is not an advantage,”_ Sherlock sneered from behind him as he set the instrument aside. Mycroft paused in the doorway and cocked his head as his brother continued, _“Don’t get involved.”_ Sherlock snorted derisively. _“I’m living in a world of goldfish,”_ he scoffed. Mycroft’s calm expression held as he shifted fully around to face Sherlock, but his jaw tightened and a muscle twitched in his cheek once, twice. “I _saw,_ Mycroft.”

Mycroft’s brows flicked upward. “Saw what?”

“You.” When Mycroft continued to look at him questioningly, Sherlock clarified, “You. And Molly.”

Mycroft’s expression didn’t change, but his grip tightened on the umbrella. “Where and when did this supposed sighting take place?”

“At Molly’s, early Sunday morning.”

Mycroft’s brows leveled as he schooled his features into an unreadable mask. “You did not see me with Miss Hooper, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s face screwed up in disgust. “I didn’t catch you in the act with her, but you were there,” he insisted. “Don’t bother denying it. You were _there._ I saw your coat and scarf.” He scowled, then added waspishly, “And umbrella.”

Mycroft suppressed a sigh and calmly returned to sit across from his brother. “And all the trouble you’ve caused this week was because of that?”

“You’re a hypocrite, Mycroft … The King of the Hypocrites,” Sherlock said bitterly. _“‘Caring is not an advantage,’_ you said. _‘Don’t get involved,’_ you said, and now you’re having sexual relations with Molly.”

Mycroft settled back in the chair with a sigh. “One does not automatically cancel out the other, little brother. The two concepts are not mutually exclusive.”

Sherlock stared at him. “But it’s _Molly._ You _must_ care for her.”

“I respect Miss Hooper,” he said evenly, “but we are not in a romantic relationship.”

A range of emotions raced across Sherlock’s face - confusion, shock, accusation. “You’re _using_ Molly.”

_“You’re_ accusing _me_ of using Miss Hooper? That’s rich, even for you, little brother. The entire history between you two has been you manipulating her for your benefit.” When Sherlock frowned, he added, “I assure you anything that may have occurred between Miss Hooper and me has been of mutual convenience and equal benefit.”

Sherlock’s gaze narrowed. “Would Molly confirm your surmise?”

Mycroft abruptly rose to his feet. “This is none of your concern, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s expression smoothed as he rested his chin on his steepled fingers, then looked at Mycroft from under his brows. “It could be,” he said significantly.

Mycroft’s gaze hardened. “That’s beneath you, little brother. Do not mess Miss Hooper about as a way to get back at me.”

“Why should you care? You don’t care about her.”

“Miss Hooper has been a good friend to you over the years. She’s never done anything to hurt you – certainly not deliberately.” Mycroft’s chin lifted as he stared down his nose at his brother. “Can you say the same?”

Sherlock didn’t respond, and Mycroft turned toward the door. He paused at the threshold and turned his head to the side. “The supposed hypocrisy of certain members of Her Majesty’s Government is not your concern,” he said evenly, then turned back to Sherlock. “From now on you will keep their secrets to yourself.”

“Will I?”

“Yes, Sherlock … you will.”

~~~~~

When Sherlock paid the driver and joined his parents on the pavement Friday morning, Violet Holmes looked from the taxi pulling away from the curb to the brick façade of the block of flats. “Where is this, Sherlock? Why are we here?”

Ignoring his mother’s questions, Sherlock moved around her to push open the outer door, shepherded his parents into the front entry hall and then urged them up the stairs to the first floor. He did have a sufficient sense of self-preservation not to use his lock pick in front of them and instead rapped sharply on the flat’s door. He again ignored his mother’s whispered question as to whose flat it was.

The door swung open a few moments later, and Molly’s eyes widened before swiftly shifting from Sherlock to the older couple. She started to greet them, then abruptly stooped to catch Toby before he could escape out the door. “Sherlock?” She rubbed her chin against the cat’s head as she looked at the visitors curiously before stepping aside. “Come in,” she said. “I’m working the late shift today.”

Sherlock snorted as he rolled his eyes. “I’m well aware of that fact, Molly. Hence our arrival at your flat, rather than Barts.”

Molly led the way to the open space between sitting room and kitchen, then turned to face them uncertainly, not sure whether to offer them a seat on the sofa for a visit or at the dining table for tea.

“Mummy, Dad … let me introduce you to Mycroft’s new friend, Molly Hooper.” Sherlock gave Molly a toothy smile that reeked of insincerity, and she braced herself. “Molly, these are my parents, Siger and Violet Holmes.” The other three exchanged tentative smiles before turning curious looks on Sherlock, whose gaze was flitting back and forth between his parents – almost nervously, Molly thought with sudden dread. “I thought you’d be proud to have proof positive that your elder son has more than ice water in his veins. Mycroft and Molly have been shagging every chance they got over the last few months.”

_“Sherlock!”_ Violet’s loud rebuke drowned out any other verbal reactions. Molly felt utterly humiliated and then light-headed as the blood seemed to drain toward her feet and she staggered the few steps to the kitchen and groped for a chair before falling onto it and dropping her head between her knees. A few moments later, she felt a gentle hand brush over her hair. “I’m sorry, Miss Hooper. We did try to raise Sherlock to behave properly, but we seemed to have lost control somewhere in his teens.” Molly finally looked up, red-faced, when Violet sat in the chair beside her. “I don’t know what Sherlock could have been thinking to bring us here,” she said vexedly. “He’s always doing his best to aggravate his brother, but why would he think his father and I have any say about what Mycroft does in his private life? Mycroft’s a grown man." She paused, then continued with obvious curiosity. “And you’re a grown woman.”

Molly’s flush intensified. “Mrs. Holmes –”

“Forgive me, Miss Hooper,” Violet broke in, patting Molly’s hand. “I can’t on one hand say it’s none of our business, then try to fish for information with the other.” She shifted her legs to the side and looked across the room at Sherlock and Siger, who had settled on the sofa. “We’re leaving,” she said to them as she got up.

“Would you like some tea before you go?”

Violet shook her head, smiling. “No, my dear, but thank you. You’re being a lot more gracious than I would have been under similar circumstances.”

Molly didn’t look at Sherlock as she saw them out, but felt strangely comforted by the singularly sweet smile Mr. Holmes gave her before following his wife through the door. As soon as she shut the door, she made a beeline for the sofa and fell onto it face down, hoping to wake up later and realize the past ten minutes had just been a bad dream. But then Molly groaned and sat up, frowning as she really considered the fact that Sherlock knew their secret … that his _parents_ knew … _Oh god_ \- how was _Mycroft_ going to react?

~~~~~

Molly had just returned the body to cold storage after finishing a post mortem early Friday afternoon when the morgue door opened. She glanced over her shoulder while continuing to wash her hands, then turned back to the sink without comment and took her time shutting off the tap and drying her hands.

“Mycroft says he lives in a world of _goldfish,”_ Sherlock said without any greeting, then continued remorselessly. “He doesn’t care about … _people._ He doesn’t have friends. He doesn’t need anybody.”

Molly finally turned around and leaned her back against the sink. “I don’t believe that’s true, Sherlock. He obviously needs _you_ … and your parents.”

Sherlock scoffed. “He can’t get rid of us, we’re family. We simply represent another duty to him and he avoids dealing with us as much as possible.”

“I think it’s the other way around entirely, Sherlock,” she said. “I’ve seen how you act toward Mycroft. You seem to do everything you can to push him away – to make him _stay_ away – and yet he keeps coming back for more of your abuse.”

“And I suppose he’s done nothing but complain to you about me since he became your _boyfriend,”_ Sherlock sneered.

“Mycroft isn’t my _boyfriend_ , it’s just –” Molly broke off.

_“Sex,”_ he hissed, making a moue of distaste. “Yes, Mycroft said it was mutually convenient and of equal benefit - that you don’t _care_ about each other. Doesn’t that rather lower your relationship to the level of animals?”

Molly felt a combination of anger, humiliation and pain at such a characterization, but focused on the anger and tried to set other emotions aside. “Or _fish_ , yes – and in this case, Sherlock, the _goldfish_ caught the _shark._ Mycroft did nothing to start this thing between us. Your brother was at an obviously low point the day Moriarty’s message was broadcast over every screen, and I came upon him and took advantage. So _thank_ you, Sherlock,” she said contemptuously, leaning toward Sherlock and glaring up at him from beneath her brows. “I know you had a starring role in whatever drama took place that day, and the after-effect on Mycroft has led to months of the most intense pleasure I could ever have imagined.”

Molly abruptly straightened when the morgue door opened and Mike Stamford stopped just inside to stare at them. She glanced at Sherlock, who seemed frozen in place, hardly even breathing. She’d suddenly had enough of anything Holmes-related and didn’t look at Sherlock as she brushed past him and strode briskly to the door. She paused by Mike ... “Did you need me? _No?_ Good” … then pushed through the door without looking back.

~~~~~

After Sherlock left his parents at their hotel, they discussed for some time how to handle what had occurred – whether to tell Mycroft, what his reaction might be if they did, and how doing so might affect whatever relationship he’d so unexpectedly – to _them_ , at least - started with the young pathologist from St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. They had an early lunch and discussed it further, then reluctantly decided Mycroft must be told, if only to be prepared to address whatever reaction Miss Hooper might ultimately have to the sudden disclosure to them – to _strangers_ \- of what she’d have justifiably considered her personal business.

“Mummy? Are you and Dad all right?”

“Hello, dear,” Violet said, glancing at her husband with raised brows as Mycroft answered her call. “Yes, we’re fine … and in town.”

“Oh?”

Violet couldn’t help but snort at Mycroft’s suddenly cautious tone. “Don’t worry – we won’t be barging in on you without notice. We’re treating ourselves and staying at the Savoy through Sunday since we have theatre tickets for tonight and for matinee and evening performances in the West End tomorrow,” she said, then smiled as she added, “and you can relax, dear boy, since for once we won’t be badgering you about accompanying us.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair. “You know you and Dad are always welcome to stay at my house -”

“Yes, when we’ve given you plenty of time to brace yourself for a visit,” she countered teasingly, then drew a deep breath and went on more seriously. “I hate to have to tell you this, son, but your brother –”

“Oh _god_ – what’s Sherlock done now,” he groaned dramatically, for the moment forgetting he was at work, though luckily sitting in a sound-proofed office.

“It’s about Miss Hooper.”

Mycroft straightened abruptly and hesitated a few moments before asking, nonchalantly, “Miss Hooper?” He was unconsciously tapping his pen against the desk while waiting for a response.

“Yes, Sherlock –”

Mycroft’s muscles tensed as he waited for her to continue, determined not to act too interested. “Sherlock,” he prompted her gently after several moments had passed.

“He took us to Miss Hooper’s flat this morning and –”

Mycroft pressed his lips tightly together to keep from swearing, most filthily. “Yes?”

“He introduced us, then said the two of you had been, um … having a relationship for some months.” Mycroft was exceedingly glad at that moment for Sherlock to be out of reach because the urge to throttle him was almost overwhelming. “Miss Hooper was certainly caught by surprise - and obviously quite upset,” she observed after a few moments silence, “but she was also more gracious than anyone could have expected under the circumstances.”

When it seemed his mother was going to say nothing more, Mycroft prompted her. “And then?”

“That’s all,” Violet said, then paused again before going on. “Miss Hooper was so embarrassed, Mikey. I thought it best that we leave her flat as soon as possible.” She sighed heavily. “Why would Sherlock do that to her?”

“Miss Hooper has been a good friend to Sherlock for some years and has always been willing to assist with his experiments. She’s also had a bit of an unrequited crush on him. I suspect Sherlock’s reaction is partly a case of dog in the manger, but I can’t speak for my brother, Mummy,” he said evenly. “You’ll have to ask him.” As Mycroft would be doing at the first opportunity, with much less consideration than his parents would have for his brother’s feelings.

~~~~~

On leaving Barts for her dinner break late that afternoon, Molly noticed the sleek black car idling at the curb and hesitated as the back window smoothly lowered. Her eyes briefly met Mycroft’s before she turned away and began walking in the general direction of the café, not faltering when he softly called her name, but wondering how in the world he’d known when she’d be leaving the hospital for her break or that she’d be leaving at all mid-shift. A few moments later, out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the car was keeping up with her, the smooth purr of the powerful engine almost eerie in its quietness. “Molly, would you please stop,” Mycroft continued in that soft voice, pitched low to avoid drawing any more attention than the car had already given rise to as it eased along the curb at a snail’s pace. “We need to talk.” Molly ignored Mycroft and kept walking along the pavement, so he increased the volume. “Get into the car, Molly.”

She automatically responded to the sudden authority in his voice and had taken a step toward the car, before stopping. “No,” she said calmly and started walking again.

“Get in the _fucking_ car!”

Molly almost smiled at witnessing Mycroft Holmes get frustrated to the point of losing his temper and acting like a normal human being. For a moment, she wondered how he’d react if a traffic warden were suddenly to appear. Molly stopped, the car stopped, then she stepped closer and bent toward the open window. “No,” she repeated calmly. “If you’re feeling lonely, Mycroft, just have your driver take you to the nearest pet shop. I believe you’ll find that goldfish are easily replaced and you’ll never even know the difference.” And with that she did an about face and headed back toward Barts, deciding she’d eat in the canteen.

Mycroft grabbed the door handle, prepared to go after her, but hesitated when he considered the ensuing scene that was likely to occur and in front of an audience. A better result would more likely be achieved if they both had time to cool off. Mycroft realized he was rubbing both temples and dropped his hands to his lap as he released a long breath. Only then did he meet Simon’s eyes in the rearview mirror and lift his chin as a signal for his driver to move on.

~~~~~

Molly’s text alert sounded shortly after she arrived home late that night:

_\- I’m sorry, Molly, for the scene Sherlock subjected you to with my parents. I’d have preferred to apologize in person, but needs must. My apologies, too, for losing my temper this afternoon and speaking to you so intemperately. MH_

Molly knew Mycroft didn’t like to text, but figured he thought it the best recourse after her earlier reaction to his attempt to talk to her. She read over his message again and had to laugh. Who but Mycroft would have texted “intemperately”?

_\- As difficult as it may be for you to believe, you’re only human, Mycroft. If you need me to forgive you for reacting like one, I do, but I won’t accept your apology for the rest of it. It’s not yours to offer. What Sherlock did is not your fault._

Less than a minute passed before Mycroft replied.

_\- May I see you tonight?_

_\- When?_

_\- Now?_

Molly opened the flat’s door, mobile in hand, not actually expecting Mycroft to be on the other side, and yet there he was. Molly stepped back as he walked in, pocketing his phone, then left him removing his coat and headed to the kitchen to fill the kettle. She busied herself with tea preparations when he came into the kitchen and settled at the table behind her, but finally turned around and leaned against the worktop, arms crossed defensively, when Mycroft cleared his throat. “My parents had no idea where Sherlock was taking them this morning or what he planned to do,” he said.

Molly’s eyes held his for a few moments longer, then she nodded and dropped her arms. “I know,” she said, “it was obvious they were shocked to meet me.”

“Shocked? No, but they likely were surprised to learn that a young, attractive, warm-hearted woman like yourself would spend time with such a cold fish as I,” he said wryly.

“If they think that, they don’t know you at all,” she protested - much too passionately, she thought and quickly turned away. She finished preparing the tea tray, then carried it to the table and took a chair across from him.

They sipped their tea in silence until Mycroft finally set his cup on its saucer and sighed. “I can’t do this anymore, my dear.”

“Can’t have tea?” Molly said, trying to infuse a bit of humor into the situation.

“Molly,” he chided, shaking his head. “I already have enough to blame myself for in regard to Sherlock. And you’re certainly aware of the demons that plague him and what a challenge it is to keep him from succumbing to their lure.” He took another sip of tea, then set down the empty cup and pushed the saucer aside. “These last few months have been particularly difficult.” He lowered his eyes to his clasped hands, which were resting on the table in front of him. He rubbed one thumb over the other, then lifted his eyes to hers. “I can’t discuss the details, but believe you are at least partly aware of what occurred at Christmas.” When Molly nodded uncertainly, he continued. “A decision concerning how to respond to Sherlock’s actions has been suspended, but only unofficially. There are interested third parties keeping a close eye on his activities, just waiting for sufficient reason to override the current deferment and take official action against him.”

Mycroft studied Molly’s expression, then sighed as he leaned across the table and took her hand. “I cannot allow any personal inclination of mine to increase the strain on my relationship with my brother and cause even more of a breakdown in communication. It’s no longer simply a matter of how any self-destructive behavior affects Sherlock’s health and mental stability, but now his freedom could be at stake.”

They regarded each other in silence for several moments, then Molly pulled her hand away and rose to her feet. “I do understand, Mycroft,” she said as she gathered their tea cups and carried them to the sink. She then turned to lean against the worktop and gave a short and humorless laugh. “Sherlock has no appreciation for how much people do for him – no gratitude or real understanding,” she said. “We – all of us in his little circle of friends - let him get by with so much and justify it as ‘oh that’s just Sherlock being Sherlock,’ and we’ve done it time after time. And we’ll continue to do it again and again, because it _is_ just Sherlock being Sherlock. No matter how much he’s hurt me or driven me spare, I always forgive him even though he doesn’t ask for it.” She crossed her arms and released a long breath. “Sherlock’s been acting out a bit at Barts this week and is obviously angry with me. I started to wonder if he’d found out about us somehow, but he hadn’t confronted me so I couldn’t address it.” She paused, grimacing. “He may not want me for himself, but he resents the thought that he might not be my favorite Holmes brother.” She gave him a dry smile. “In some ways, he’s a six year old and must be dealt with appropriately.”

When Mycroft rose to his feet and walked over to her, Molly couldn’t stop herself from moving closer and resting her hand on his arm … and unwittingly brushing her fingers over the fine wool of his jacket. Molly glanced up at Mycroft, then quickly dropped her hand and stepped as far back as she could with the sink behind her, lowering her eyes as she felt the tension rise between them. But when Mycroft offered Molly his hand, she took it … then let him tug her to him and met him halfway when his head lowered toward hers and reached for his shoulders, lifting higher against him when he kissed her … and opened her mouth when his tongue gently probed the seam of her lips … and eventually pulled away and stared at him, holding his eyes as she edged sideways … then towed him behind her until they reached the side of her bed … and went into his open arms and pressed her body flush against his, moaning as her fingers dug into his back.

Mycroft lifted his mouth from hers, holding her gaze as he cupped the side of her face. “Don’t cry, Molly,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her cheek, then he kissed her again, very lightly, before resting his chin on top of her head.

“I’m n-not,” she said, well aware that a tear had escaped, and bit the inside of her cheek to try to stop any more from falling. The tension gradually eased between them and Molly pressed herself closer for a few moments before loosening her hold. “We can’t do this – not when it’d be the last time,” she said, finally releasing him and sinking to the edge of the bed. “You must know that I want you, Mycroft,” she said, looking up to meet his eyes, “but I’d rather remember the way it was between us last weekend than have it end like this.”

Mycroft sighed as he sat beside her and took her hand. “I understand,” he said.

They sat quietly for a while, then Molly asked, “Would you lie here with me for a few minutes?” She bit her lip when Mycroft stood, thinking he was going to refuse, but then he removed his jacket and crossed the room to arrange it on the clothes valet. Molly toed off her shoes before scooting over to stretch out on her side, then watched as he sat on the bed, took off his shoes and shifted to lie beside her. “What are you going to do about Sherlock?”

“God knows,” he said, then sighed as he reached for her hand and threaded their fingers together. “Find something to keep him busy that he’ll accept. If he’d agree, I could keep him fully occupied, but he resents my involvement.”

“Greg Lestrade can help,” she said.

“But a Detective Inspector can hardly manufacture cases and even then the cases have to be interesting enough to rate Sherlock’s involvement.”

Molly sighed and squeezed his hand. “I’ll do what I can at Barts when he wants to start working with me again, assuming he ever does.”

“I’m sure he will soon. If nothing else, Sherlock will want the body parts you can provide - and isn’t _that_ a strange comment to make about one’s brother” [Molly snorted] “… and one’s … friend.” Molly had to blink quickly and bite her lip to keep a sob from escaping at his calling her that. Mycroft sighed and sat up. “I need to go,” he said, then twisted to look down at her. “Thank you, Molly Hooper," he whispered as he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead.

Mycroft shifted to the side of the bed and bent to put on his shoes before rising to his feet. After donning his jacket, he came back to the side of the bed, slipped his hand into his trousers pocket, and pulled out his key ring. Molly watched as he removed her key and carefully placed it on the bedside table, then returned the small smile he gave her before he turned away. “Thank you, Mycroft Holmes,” she called to him, forcing another smile when he looked at her over his shoulder just before going out the door and quietly closing it behind him.

Molly lay there listening intently until she heard the flat’s outer door click shut, then she rolled over, buried her face in the pillow that still smelled like Mycroft, and let the tears flow as she realized, now that it was over, that it must have been love after all.

**Author's Note:**

> A very special THANK YOU to [DanannB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DanannB) for letting me whinge on (and on) about this installment all week (the Tumblr messaging function got quite a workout!), for encouraging me to finish it, for suggesting the "rustling" - and finally, after all the angst I threw her way - for reading this for me just before I posted it. (She assures me it makes sense - that it's _not_ as disjointed as I feared!)
> 
> Yes, there's a nod to the awful, skeevy Rich from _London Spy_ in this, but when I saw that brief scene in the car, I absolutely wanted to hear Mycroft say the same thing one day ... so I made it happen ... sorry/not sorry!
> 
> _Edited 7 April 2016 to add:_ It's come to my attention that the "structure" of this series could be confusing. If I'd known Mycroft's and Molly's initial encounter was eventually going to develop into a relationship, I would have started this as a multi-chaptered story instead of a series. Please note that the storyline of this Encounters series is chronological, so reading earlier parts will show how they got to where they are now. :)
> 
> _Note:_ For anyone who might be interested, I'm on Tumblr and devote 99.99% of my time and effort there to Mycroft/Mark love. [WaitingForTheThaw](http://waitingforthethaw.tumblr.com/)


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